


Dakota Lerp, Girl On Top

by griffinhaught



Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: Director Nicole, EFA Fic Challenge 2019, F/F, mentions of cat emesis, someone teach me how to tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-23
Updated: 2019-02-23
Packaged: 2019-11-04 03:17:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17890496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/griffinhaught/pseuds/griffinhaught
Summary: In fear of cancellation and a dried up well of inspiration, the jaded Director of an award-winning TV series considers giving up. Her friends won't let her.





	Dakota Lerp, Girl On Top

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer - the characters as they have been written are not representative of the people that make this show. I just want to make that clear.
> 
> Dedicated to Lerpers everywhere.
> 
> Earpers. 
> 
> I mean Earpers.

_Dumb as all hell. That’s what this is._

_Wow Wynonna, you really are growing up, even your inner-monologue is mildly censored. Oh, good job, Wynonna. Well, why thank you, Wynonna._

“…Calcium carbonate, dehydrated silica gels, hydrated aluminum oxides, humectants—,” she spits out and she wants to laugh but he cuts her off before the gargle or chuckle or however it is that it would have tumbled out, rolls off her tongue.

“I’m sorry, what in tarnation is a humectant?”

“Doc, if you continue to stop me every time I’m halfway through the line, we are never gonna get out of here.” Wynonna sets the script down.

“Now, Wynonna, I know you do not mean that.” He sidles closer to her with a mischievous look on his face.

She eyes him, furrowing her brow in that way of hers, an expression only an Earp schooled in the highest forms of sarcasm can give. Its somehow accusatory and genuine in the same bend of the neck. She nods her head and lets out a half-whispered “Duuuude, not in front of the cameras.”

He looks up and yes, maybe he forgot about the crew of fifty-five people or so encircling them with mics cradled in their hands and the cameramen (well, mostly women) staring them down, waiting with impatient eyes, and of course, Jim—oh Jim—with his single tooth shining through the same gummy smile he’s worn since the Calgary Flames won the Cup in ‘89, his red flannel, faded by decades of sun exposure, enough to match the pink of his weathered cheeks. He’s outstretching his wrinkled hands, holding up two circular light reflectors high in the air above his head, the same way he’s been doing for the same production company in the same town for the past 35 years.

And yes, maybe Doc forgot about what they were even there for in the first place. Because maybe he’s just a humble Purgatory rancher plucked off the street to shoot as an extra because he “accentuated the rural landscape with his steamy ruggedness,” as that danged red-headed Director had put it, and maybe there was just something he couldn’t help about getting under this brunette’s skin. Sure, he was plenty attracted to her, and sure they had gone there once or twice in the cigarette-scarred backseat of his ’95 SR5 Tacoma, but more than anything, making _the_ Wynonna Earp squirm in front of the heat of these set lights was all the incentive he needed to let the distraction overtake him.

“They’re still rolling, we can save this—,” she whispers before shifting the look on her face to one that more matched the line she needed to spit out. It twists and contorts, almost gratuitously, seeing as he rolls his eyes when she shakes her upper body ritualistically, just a bit, to slip into her role.

“Now, you listen here, Samuel Hickshaw, you low-life ruffian. If we don’t collect these components on this here list, then how in the heck do you figure we’ll be able to stop the Tin Man from rising?”

He nods his head emphatically and she almost misses it when he accidentally looks bullseye-like into the closest camera that’s framing her and him and the snow-laden hill they’re standing on. She turns her face away from the camera’s line of sight and faces the ice-capped mountains of the Alberta expanse in the distance, just so she can roll her eyes while the film still runs, at his predictable doe-eyed acting skills. Still a cowboy, even after all these years. 

“Yes, ma’am, you are right, as always. What do we need again? I’ll fetch the ingredients at once.”

Wynonna pulls the prop scrap piece of paper from the inside pocket of the same black, leather jacket that’s been replicated and cosplayed and sold in comic book stores and hot topic and stitched by the hands of devoted fans for the past eight seasons that she’s had this gig.

“Uh, let’s see.” She pretends to read off, “calcium carbonate, dehydrated silica gel, hydrated aluminum oxide, a humectant, preferably glycerin, sorbitol, and fresh Mint.” She looks up. He’s gives her that same confused look again. “Why, Samuel, this here just happens to be the ingredient list for the toothpaste my daddy made me use growing up.” She cursed herself for the next line, partly because it was corny as all heck but mostly because it felt like bits of her soul were being sold away and sucked down into the firy pits of the same Hell depicted in the low-budget CGI that the show’s production could afford.

Not to mention, how in the world would the lead character in this weird-ass modern Western Horror series know the ingredients of the toothpaste she used growing up? That’s just not realistic.

“Now Dakota Lerp, that is an ever-impressive memory you have. Pray tell, what is the name of the toothpaste? I’ll head down to Tiny’s General Store and pick up a tube.”

_Ugh, here it comes._

“Samuel, no need. It just so happens I have some on me right now.” She mutters under her breath but forces a smile to paint across her lips. “All we need to face the Tin Man,” she grits out, “is Calgary’s own, Calgate Whitening Paste…for a whiter you—”

_Jesus Christ._

“CUT!” The redhead five feet away stalks towards Wynonna with her hands on her hips. She takes off her Ray Ban aviators, revealing dark brown eyes. So dark, that Wynonna can’t help but wonder if she would even need those fake black contact lenses Costume uses for possessed day-players. “Take five everyone!” she shouts, ignoring the annoyed mumbles of her tired crew. They’ve been there since 6:00am and the she can’t for the life of her get her talent to cooperate. “Tell me what’s the problem, Wy. We need to get this scene out of the way.”

Wynonna shifts uncomfortably in her boots. “Damn, I don’t know Haught, ‘a whiter you’? Doesn’t that sound—I don’t know—um, like it doesn’t quite match our message?”

Nicole tilts her head forward and pinches the bridge of her nose with her forefinger and thumb. Pushing her lead to commit to a line that makes her own moral compass inwardly cringe, isn’t exactly her favorite activity. But what is she supposed to do? They need the sponsors. They need the cash-flow. Without it, Jim doesn’t get paid. If Jim can’t get paid, they don’t have lighting. If they don’t have lighting, they don’t have a show.

_Fudgenuggets._

“Listen, I know its corny, Wy. I know it probably feels like we’re selling out. But isn’t this 18 seconds of airtime worth it when all those letters flood in from all those kids. Jesus, I could pull out my phone and log on to twitter and type out “cows 4” and immediately be hit with words of love and praise and acceptance from some kid sitting in his basement in Moscow. Moscow, Wy! Last week I accidentally butt-tweeted a photo of my cat licking up her own vomit and it went viral. Isn’t that why we’re here?”

Wynonna’s eyebrows go a bit squiggly, “Um…”

“Come on Wynonna, we touch people, ya know? What we do is—it’s a privilege. Don’t you want your cat’s vomit to go viral?”

“Nicole, I don’t think—”

“We just have to suck it up sometimes. Let’s get the scene done and then we can take lunch,” she pulls out her phone and starts typing. Without looking up, “we good?”

“Yeah, Nicole, we’re good.” Wynonna sighs. She remembers when they started this show. She remembers the long nights and the early call times and the first few years at the conventions. She remembers when Nicole approached her with the idea, young and excited about a project with representation and diversity and an eagerness to put good out there. To reach people. Everything back then was new and fresh. They all woke up with smiles and showed up and created a community. And the people. Man, the people made it mean something. It was never just about viral tweets or ad campaigns or hollow lines. She remembers. Being Dakota Lerp meant something. Things were different then. They fought tooth and nail to get their network slot and keep it. They fought, over and over again. All the awards, all the recognition, all the human rights organizations giving praise, none of it would've happened without the people. Wynonna feels herself filling with rage. Not at her situation. It is what it is. But at Nicole. What happened? Why had she forgotten? They weren’t supposed to be like this. It wasn’t supposed to be about— _freaking toothpaste_. “Oh, hey I forgot, my sister is flying in today and staying with us.”

Nicole looks up from her phone.

Wynonna nods her head. Suddenly she sees it. Is that…fear? No, couldn’t be. Apprehension, maybe, gleaming out of brown eyes.

_Ah. Right. Almost forgot._

“Just for a few days. Waves wants to go through her screenplay with me.”

“Oh.” Wynonna thinks Nicole might be trying to focus in on a craggy cut in the mountains fifty miles away. Like a bird with excruciatingly good vision. Which is weird, because she’s got human eyes not a bird’s, Wynonna absently thinks to herself.

“Hey. You okay?” She snaps her fingers in front of the aviator-less face for good measure.

The redhead shifts her gaze back to Wynonna. “Yeah, course. OK PEOPLE!! LET’S GET THIS DONE!!” She shouts suddenly, making her friend roll her eyes at her fleeting moment of vulnerability.

 

* * *

 

 

“Did you see this?”

She picks at her salad with her plastic fork. Eats the bits of bacon and puts the tomatoes on her napkin and slides it to her sister. “What?”

“Um… the timeline is going nuts.”

“Ugh, what is it this time? Have I been featured in a new fanfic where we’re lovers?”

“Gross. Please don’t remind me of those Wyncest tweets. I thought I’d never get past it. Um. No this is… this is big.” She reads on and jerkily grasps at Wynonna’s forearm. “Wy… they’re saying you’ve been cancelled.”

Wynonna looks up. “What? That can’t be right. We just signed our contracts for Season Nine.” She grabs the phone out of Waverly’s hand and scrolls through. “Oh my god, Waves, this isn’t even for next season. This is—I’ll be right back.”

She slams her trailer door behind her and leaps down the steps, not bothering to look up as she continues to scroll through the outrage on her sister’s twitter feed. It seems like the fans were already going to bat and production hadn’t even caught wind about this yet. Man, she loved her Lerpers.

“Nicole!” She bangs her closed fist against the tinny metal door, and gives in, swinging it open and climbing the steps inside.

She stops in the doorway, not wanting to interrupt the tense phone call she seems to have walked in on.

“Yeah, Diane—Diane, I get all that—no, hold on,” Nicole is pacing back and forth. She looks tired when she glances up and gestures to Wynonna to come in. She holds up one finger while she continues speaking into the mouthpiece. Wynonna can see bags under her eyes and her pale skin looks paler than normal. Waverly and Wynonna had slipped out of the house early this morning, so this is the first time she's really seeing her today. Wynonna presumes it wasn’t an accident. It’s clear Waverly is avoiding her roommate. She would laugh if everything they’ve worked for wasn’t about to fall apart at the seams. “I don’t understand, what about the contracts? We have our sponsors. How is this the first I’m hearing about it? No. No—Diane, listen—they can’t do this. They told us—” Wynonna watches from her place on the leather sofa as Nicole closes her eyes in defeat. She pulls the phone from her ear and ends the call, arm going limp at her side with her cell weighing it down. “She hung up.”

"Phh that Diane." She shakes her head in solidarity. She's never met Diane. Wynonna cringes at her attempt to sound supportive.

Nicole sighs and shakes her own head. “She’s just the messenger.”

“Nicole—I,”

“It’s okay Wynonna. This was going to happen eventually.” Nicole untucks her blue button down from her cargo pants and runs her fingers through her red hair.

“They can’t do this, Nicole. We’re in the middle of production. Is this even legal? I mean--crap what are we going to tell the fans?”

“I don’t know. Diane is getting in touch with Dolls so he can go over the paperwork. See if there’s anything that can be done. But there’s no money. It’s all dried up.”

“That’s what she said.”

Nicole smiles.

“So that’s it?” The brunette shifts in her seat. “Just like that? It’s over?”

They sit in silence for a few minutes. Nicole is about to respond when a knock sounds on the trailer door.

When Waverly climbs the steps and leans in the doorway, Nicole’s heart all but lurches. “Oh, sorry. I was looking for—there you are.” Waverly’s eyes land on Wynonna sitting cross-legged on the couch. Nicole can see that the other girl is looking at basically everything in the room except her. A fake plant. A tube of Calgary’s Calgate Whitening Paste. When she sees Waverly’s gaze land on the small pill bottle of Ativan that Nicole curses herself for not having put away earlier, she isn’t surprised when eyes shift to her own.

There’s that lurch again.

Waverly says nothing and Nicole is grateful.

Nicole looks down and sees that Waverly is clutching a laptop. She is still speechless when the small brunette with long wavy hair pulls off her downy parka and sits on the couch next to Wynonna. “You guys won’t believe this. It’s all over the news.”

“Hi Waverly.”

“Hi Nicole.” Her pink cheeks mirror Nicole’s. Eight years and it’s still like this.

“Hi Wynonna.” Wynonna almost regrets it as soon as it’s out, but she just can’t find it in herself to care. She smiles to herself briefly. “Waves, I was literally with you when you showed me twitter, remember?” The scoff doesn’t hide her disappointment in the day. Even if the writing has been declining in quality. Even if the original cast has slimmed down to herself and Doc and the #TooCute actors, it’s still her life. It still means something to someone out there. She wants to cry at the fact that maybe that fan is her. She’s the gay kid who can’t come out to a religious family. She’s the lonely or awkward weirdo that feels accepted by an internet community. She’s the social justice organizer and the depressed teen and the single mom and the starving artist and the aspiring writer that loves a show because it brought them all together. She’s Wynonna.

“No. Not that. Things are developing fast. More is coming out. Look.”

Wynonna takes the computer.

“I don’t understand. What am I looking at?”

“They’re raising money. See? They’ve already started a crowdfunding campaign and like six different petitions. Wynonna it’s not over yet.”

She doesn’t have words. Wynonna freaking Earp is actually speechless. “Wow,” she breathes out.

Nicole is still fidgeting. She paces back and forth. Walks over to her table and grabs the pill bottle. She doesn’t hesitate to pop the lid and throw one back, even with the heat of Waverly’s worried glare. She dry-swallows it and scrunches her face to make it go down. She looks out the window and watches as a worker shakes ice off a lengthy stretch of black cable. She winds the cable around and around until its hanging from the crook of her arm in a cascading loop. Infinite. But not at all. She gets to the end of the loop and plugs it in. “It’s over.” She doesn’t even realize she’s said it out loud until Wynonna is at her side.

“What in the hell do you mean? We have the funding. The fans want this.”

Nicole continues to watch the woman working outside. “No. It’s over.”

“Nicole, you can’t be serious? We’ve worked too hard for this.” Wynonna can feel her chest rising. All she wants to do is fight. She wants to keep going. “Why would you just give up?”

Nicole looks back to her friend. “Wy, it’s not giving up. It’s giving in. What’s so wrong about that?”

“Jesus, do you hear yourself? It’s the same thing. It’s the same damn thing and you know it. What do you want to tell them? Here,” she pulls her phone out and opens a new tweet. “Here, you dictate, and I’ll send it. They just _love_ when we post on each other’s accounts, right? It’s all about fan-service, right?” The bite in Wynonna’s words only exhausts Nicole further. She doesn’t want to fight.

“Wynonna—” Waverly knows she should stop this. But with the look in Nicole’s eyes. The same tired look she’s seen every time she visits Wynonna when she’s shooting on location, well, it’s a look that tells her maybe she should let this play out.

“Here, I’ll start it Nicole, just for you. Dear, devoted fans, thanks so much for the time and energy you have put into this franchise.” She hits send. “Already out of characters, too many emojis. Guess it’s gonna be a thread!”

Waverly puts her forehead in her palm.

She should really say something.

“I want to thank you all, but it turns out your fundraising efforts won’t be needed. There will be no Season Nine. Because after eight years of friendships built and friendships lost and pets adopted and pets lost, you know, it turns out I’m a coward.” She looks up to Nicole. “We’re on tweet three now.” She smiles. “I have officially stopped caring about all the things I used to want. And it’s because of you. Because you have been selfless and kind and respectful and helpful and just gosh-darn there for me. You’ve made the world better and I guess that’s why I feel I don’t have to anymore. I’d rather go viral with cat vomit and sell my soul to a small-town toothpaste manufacturer, and I thank you.”

“Are you done? Because, you not only ruined my career, you just ruined yours too. They’re all going to know that was you.”

“No. This last bit I’ll save just for you.” Wynonna sets the phone on the table. “Nicole, we started this together. What was the point of it all if you were just going to give up? There are real people out there counting on us and we can’t just take that for granted. It’s our responsibility! Grow the hell up. Because, Jesus Christ, I can’t keep doing it for you.”

Nicole swears she’s gone before the brunette even makes a move to leave.

The silence makes her queasy.

“I don’t get it Nicole, you love this show. Why would you want it to be over?” Waverly sits back on the sofa and relishes the small jump of her lungs when Nicole sits down next to her.

The redhead lets the back of her head fall against the blinds that cover the window. “I’m just tired.”

“Listen, I know production is exhausting, but once you guys are in the swing of things, you’ll have more energy. I promise.” She smiles, hoping it lands.

“No. I just mean—I’m tired Waverly. Tired of fighting. It’s always a fight. I have two lesbian main characters on this show _and_ its genre TV. It’s so damn hard to stay on the air. We have to fight for investors and fight for ad-time and—Jesus we have to fight for everything. I’m so tired of fighting.”

“But how is that different from how it’s always been?”

“It’s not. That’s the problem. It’s the same fight, over and over. Every time we win one, there’s another. And another. Are we supposed to do this forever? Is it really fair to take money from the same people we _started_ this whole thing for?”

“Nicole, I don’t think it’s that black and white. None of this is.”

“I know. I know.” She closes her eyes. Waiting for some kind of spark of inspiration. She’s desperate for it. But she’s worried it’ll never come. She hasn’t felt inspired in her life or in her writing since Season Four. Why would it happen now?

_Just give me a sign._

She hears the gentle tap of fingertips against glass and when she cracks her eye lids she sees Waverly Earp scrolling through the TL, smiling as if everything is going to be okay.

And suddenly she thinks it just might.

“Nicole, you know she believes in you, right?”

“Didn’t you hear her? I’m a coward. I give up. Waverly, she told the whole world. They’ll turn on me just like she did. And then you will too.”

She hears Waverly sigh, but its comforting. It’s a reminder. It’s also slightly punitive. She knows she can’t get away with the negative self-talk when Waverly is around.

“You are so dramatic.” Waverly giggles, like a cloud letting loose only a few drops of rain. Nicole lets it drip down her face and into her bones. The smaller girl moves to stand up but not before she leaves a lingering kiss on Nicole’s blushing cheek. “It’s good to see you again. How about dinner tonight?”

_Torrential downpour._

 

“Um. Yeah. Okay.”

Before she opens the door to leave she looks back at Nicole. Nicole twists her head to meet her gaze and smiles. “And, Nicole?”

“Yeah?”

“I’ll never turn on you, even when you’re tired of fighting.”

_Hailstorm._

 

The door closes just as Nicole picks up the phone Wynonna left on the coffee table. She opens the timeline expecting to find that she’s been blocked by thousands of angry fans, only to see, well, the same words of encouragement that were there earlier. She searches through her mentions, and nothing. It’s only when she looks at her profile that she sees Wynonna had saved the rant into her Drafts. She had never pressed send.

She smiles.

When she hits delete and sets the phone down, she pulls out her own phone with renewed—something—and calls the last received number.

While she waits for the ringing to click over she wastes no time in pulling out her laptop. She opens her production notes.

“Hey, Diane? It’s me. Yeah, listen, I’ve got some good news. Before I tell you though, I should warn you, I’m about to change the script.”

She starts typing.


End file.
